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NO. I. 


THE 


LIFE 


*• - - 

Price 25 cts, 


J A S 

ylyv' 


fa*' 


STEPHEN H. BRANCH; i 


(WRITTEN BY HIMSELF,) 


DELICATED TO THOSE WHO ROVE IN VIRTUE’S GROVE. 


NEW YORK. 




1857 . 












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THE 


LIFE 


STEPHEN H. BRANCH: 

h 7 

(WRITTEN BY HIMSELF,) 


DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO ROVE IN VIRTUE’S GROVE. 



NEW YORK 


1857 . 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 
STEPHEN H. BRANCH, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District 

of New York. 


CHAPTER FIRST. 


1 was born in Providence, Rhode Island, July 11, 1813. My grandfather, 
Nicholas Branch, and my father, Stephen Branch, were natives of Providence. 
My grandfather was a soldier of the Revolution, and my father was a zealous 
advocate of our second war with Great Britain, at whose close he was elected 
to various civil trusts, and at later periods, was Chief Justice of the Court of 
Common Pleas; appointed Judge of the Supreme Court, which he declined ; 
a member of both branches of the Legislature, and of the Baltimore Con¬ 
vention of 1836; President of the State Temperance Society; a Commis¬ 
sioner to adjust the boundary between Rhode Island and Massachusetts, and 
opposed the Revolution ol Thomas Wilson Dorr. His form is vailed from 
human view, and his soul is on its flight through wasteless ages, but his virtues 
will ever bloom in the affections of his kindred and native State. 

My mother’s virgin name was Lucretia Loomis, who was born in East 
Hartford, Connecticut, and was a woman of Spartan attributes. 

Tradition 'says that our physician was at my birth, with Aunt Lucy and 
Aunt Marcy, and a host of relatives in the adjoining room, awaiting my ad¬ 
vent with prodigious long breaths ; that Aunt Lucy fell from her chair, 


And swooned away 
In ecstacy, 

when she heard the joyous proclamation of my birth ; that I was a cross brat, 
and gave my nurse no peace from Aurora to Venus, nor from Venus to 
Aurora; that many early predicted I would be a wondrou3 minister, or 1 e 
hung ; that Aunt Marcy saw my scaffold in the deep perspective of an affright¬ 
ed dream on a very windy night; that I early refused to wear frocks, and 
demanded jacket and trowsers, with long pockets, instead; that I permit¬ 
ted no one to eat or sleep until I got them; that when I wore my first jacket 
and pants with red gaiters, and a white plume in my blue velvet cap, I strutted 
like a porcupine, and made love to little Clara Violet, after school, at the 
foot of her father’s garden, beneath the sweet shade of a damask rose bush ; 
and oft met her there, amid the soft rays of a summer moon, with my pockets 


4 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


full of sugar plums; and vowed eternal constancy to the beauteous Clara, in 
a kneeling posture, with clasped hands, and with my brilliant and enthusiastic 
eyes closely riveted on the sacred stars; that I was not quite three years old 
when Clara won my pensive heart, and Oscar Rivulet was my formidable 
rival for Clara’s lily hands, chaste soul, classic mind, genial heart, bewitching 
smiles, alluring graces, tender glances, Castilian dimples, rainbow hues, Mozart 
ears, twilight curls, pearly teeth, strawberry lips, pretty nose, Grecian temples, 
laughing eyes, luxuriant lashes, music voice, snowy neck, ocean bosom, match¬ 
less waist, Chinese feet, symmetric form, graceful attitudes, elastic pace, wil¬ 
low motion, queenly mien, and dramatic gesticulation ; that the incomparable 
Clara first moved the affections of my innocent childhood, one summer after¬ 
noon, on the garret stairs, where I was seen in tears at her gentle rebuke of 
my playful effort to remove a superfluous blossom from her rosy cheek; that 
we oft held sweet counsel of our joy in coming years, and that our love grew 
in luxuriance with the revolving seasons. 

And, on early manhood’s romantic verge, 

I too well remember, 

And I shall forever, 

The sad autumnal day, 

She sang her parting lay, 

As we sat together, 

With eyes on each other: 

On that memorable day, I depart for distant climes; Clara’s father retires 
from Commercial life, in splendid affluence, to his native mountain village, on 
the Atlantic coast, where Clara passed her academic days, and whose ambitious 
mind still rambles in the delightful realms of science; she is on the eve of 
graduation at the village Seminary, and awaits my return from Asia, with 
intense solicitude; I am enchanted with foreign travel, and fondly linger on 
the placid bosom of Italian streams, and around pillars and temples, castles 
and cathedrals, and burning mountains, and at the base of the wondrous and 
eternal pyramids; I glide o’er the glassy Nile, and lie on its velvet borders, 
and dream of a peerless Queen and Roman Courtier, in their glittering barge 
of love; I roam in deserts, and meet weary Arabs, reclining on rocks and 
sweet oases; I loiter in the sacred paths and groves of Palestine; and in all 
my pilgrimage, warmly admire the precious relics of 

The immortal sages 
Of the early ages: 

and gaze with rapture at Circassian beauties, 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


5 


Though from Spain to Circassia, 

I saw no girl like Clara, 

who mourns my protracted absence, and with returning suns, bounds to 
clifEs that impend the ocean shore, to discern my advent in the far horizon ; 
she gazes from the giddy crag, o’er the desert waters, till tears becloud her 
weary eyes, and descends, at sorrow’s pace, to the cheerless vales; I write 
alfection’s strains to my chaste divinity, from Gibralter’s rock to Zion’s sacred 
mount, and mail my letters at the Italian, Grecian, and Egyptian ports, 

Which never reach her palm, 

To gild her face with calm; 

poor Clara pines, and thus soliloquises, at evening shades, in her favorite bower : 
“ The dreary winter is in pale oblivion’s fold; the gentle spring, with its 
flowers, and blossoms, and early verdure, is on the genial summer’s fertile 
verge, and yet there’s no fond letters from the dearest object of my heart, who 
may never come to cheer me with his sweet tones again, nor ramble with his 
Clara through these vales and mountains, where we so oft have wandered, and 
listened to the melodious birds, and forest echoes, and inhaled the fragrance of 
luxuriant nature, and lingered on each other’s glowing words, until surprised 
by the glorious midnight constellations ; 

O, that I had never seen him, 

So pure is my love for Stephen — 

pale Clara weeps, and sings plaintive melodies, until the cheerful moon is gone, 

When she retires to her pretty cloister, 

And dreams all night of her roving lover. 


Oscar Rivulet embraces the glories of my absence, visits Clara at her 
mountain home, and archly fans her gentle murmurs of the lingering swain; 
the pure and confiding Clara’s mind receives his pernicious banc; they 
roam on the banks of mountain streams,—through winding paths, arched 
by oaks and sighing willows, and, side by side, on proud chameleon steeds, that 
rival the rainbow’s gorgeous mantle, they scale projecting cliffs to their celes¬ 
tial heights, and gaze in wild delight on the placid moon and silver ocean; 
and in twilight’s sacred hour, while the laughing moon breaks through the 
gauzy windows, Oscar reclines on the sofa’s soothing down, and listens to 
Clara’s Elysium strains; and stealing by her side, intwines her snowy fingers, 
and steals a kiss from her vocal lips; they gaze in silent rapture; the mu- 


6 


LIFE OF STETHEN H. BRANCH. 


tual glance of conquest is fondly cast; she reclines her giddy temples on his 
buoyant bosom, and archly buries her pretty hands in his; tears becloud her 
gleaming eyes; Oscar is victorious ; Clara intensely loves; they fly to their 
astonished parents; threaten mutual suicide, if they dissent to instant nup¬ 
tials, and a voyage to classic lands; a council is held ; grandpa and grandma 
are there, and, in sepulchral tones, implore their immediate bans, lest they sip 
the fatal draughts; the decision is auspicious, and Cupid bears the joyous 
news to the impatient twain; Oscar and Clara swoon, fall, rise, behold, scream, 
embrace, and are wild with joy; rumor darts from lip to lip; hags run from 
house to house; gossip revels in delirium; the village is a chaos; compassion 
is evinced for the absent lover; Oscar flies to his defamers; money soothes the 
clamorous hags, whose detraction of me luxuriates; none resist the assaults 
of my cunning rival; my hopes are forever blighted; Oscar is justified by 
kin and stranger; the hags control the village sentiment, and sing, and dance, 
and shout on the public green, over Oscar’s triumph; the merry bell summons 
all to church; the hags rush into the galleries, and chatter like monkeys, and 
display their rings and flounces, purchased with Oscar’s gold; Clara’s favo¬ 
rite companions are seated near the altar, with pretty villagers in their rear ; 
the fallacious swain, with his beauteous bride, joyously emerge from their 
gorgeous chariot, graced with postilions and Arabian coursers; Clara is ar¬ 
rayed in spotless white, and gleams with jewels; Oscar’s robes are of varied 
hues, and glitter with Oriental rubies; they enter the sacred edifice; proudly 
pace its ample aisles; the organ and sweet voices impart delightful music; 
they ascend the hallowed altar, with tremulation; Clara gracefully removes 
her snowy vail; her massive bridal ring reflects its captivating beams; alter¬ 
nate hues celestialise her thoughtful face; the organ’s last reverberation 
expires on the silent air; the sweet event is near; fascinating smiles adorn 
the hilarious virgins; the hags titter; the divine emerges from his gothic 
chancel, and articulates in thrilling tones; deep silence and solemnity pervade 
the village throng; the lovers join their trembling hands; a shrill voice is 
heard; ’tis Clara’s compunction, and lament for Stephen ; the moment is ex¬ 
citing ; heads recline, ribbons wave, silks rustle, and fans gently move the 
invisible air; the hags smile, and squint, and blink; all eye3 are on the bride; 
Clara rallies and stands erect, and disguises her emotions with affected mirth; 
a storm arises, whose zenith is a tornado; the clouds are dense and black as 
Erebus; darkness vails the mute assemblage; the lightnings flash and thun¬ 
ders roll; beauty and diamonds gleam in the lurid light; all is gloom and ter¬ 
ror ; vailed justice sighs and pants for vengeance; Oscar stands like a statue; 
guilt enthrones his towering brow, and haggard paleness reclines on his sepul- 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


7 


chral features; the parson breathes his final accents to the impatient and trem¬ 
bling lovers; the nuptial kiss seals all; the mercenary hags evince the wildest 
mirth, and mimic a pastoral dance in the galleries ; the tempest ceases, and 

M Twilight lets her curtain down, 

And pins it with a star 


the hags rush into the village road, and suspend the gilded bribes of Oscar 
between the blushing stars and flowers, amid frantic shouts for the bliss and 
glory of the groom and bride; the Church reverberates with exhilarating 
music, canary kisses, and affections grateful tones; Oscar and Clara retire to 
their gilded chariot, with blessings, wreaths, and tears, whose snowy steeds 
depart amid the graceful muslin’s wave of a hundred beauteous virgins, until 
the lovers disappear in the sad perspective; the hags sneak across the fields 
to their vile abodes, while the pensive maidens, with their sympathising cour¬ 
tiers, pace slowly to their twilight homes, musing on the glorious past, and 
their eternal los3 of Clara, as their beloved companion since merry childhood’s 
dawn; the dying echos of the remorseless Sexton’s key commingle with the 
atmospheric aisles, and usurp the happy voices of the departed throng; the 
serenade transpires beneath the gorgeous realms of a meridian moon; the 
genial choristers are saluted with Clara’s celestial smiles, and breathe their 
sweetest strains on the evening air, with inspiring draughts from silver goblets, 


All gleaming with light, 
From the Queen of night, 


whose bugle notes ascend, and embrace the congenial spheres; Oscar and Clara 
wave their affectionate adieu to the lingering artists, and slowly close the 
lattice; Clara kneek in silent recitation of her sacred childhood words ; Oscar 
breathes fragrant dew on the weary lights, and the folds of night gracefully 
inclose the beauteous twain; the gilded steeds of Aurora prance up the gor¬ 
geous east, with lightning strides; the ship dances in the distant stream; the 
sails are set; the flags kiss the skies; the last repast awaits the lingering lovers; 

The piercing gong, 

With its ding dong, 

Breaks through the atmospheric waves, 

Into their Elysium shades ; 

And Clara cries, “’Tis morn, I fear,” 

And Oscar sighs, “ Not yet, my dear 
But when the gong shakes feet and head, 

They leap like squirrels from the bed, 


8 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


and bedeck themselves in gaudy ocean robes; they approach the feast at rapid 
pace, lest 

If they walk too slow, 

A shrill horn may blow ; 

they partake of the morning viands; retire to marble halls; ascend the par¬ 
lor pedestal; the fondest of Clara’s academic comrades call, and salute her in 
fervent tones; the last embrace and congenial kiss transpire; the postilions 
and prancing coursers impatiently await; the admiring pair enter their glit¬ 
tering chariot, amid the universal gloom, and poor Clara departs in tears from 
her tranquil mountain village, for the murmuring sea; her kin follow in a 
mournful train; and the pastorals, 

On their bounding cavalry, 

Form a gorgeous pageantry; 

they approach the water’s melancholy margin; all emerge and dismount in 
silent sorrow; and Clara, by Oscar’s side, enters the precarious ship, with 
trembling pace; the wind is fair and gentle; the firmament is without a cloud • 
pensive smiles bedeck the pier; the gallant Captain gives his last behest; 

The last bell, 

(Like the knell, 

In the dell, 

Where man fell,) 

thrills the universal pulse; the chain is severed; the plank is drawn; all is 
clear; congenial bosoms rise and fall; tears flow in plaintive rivulets; the 
ship glides gracefully over the autrftnnal waters; handkerchiefs wave until 
her disappearance in the mournful horizon; and Oscar and Clara are alone, 
on their delightful pilgrimage to Italian skies, and streams, and monuments 
of the classic ages; the sun and moon and pretty stars are mirrored in the 
placid ocean, and balmy zephyrs are constant in their pleasant rambles for 
many revolutions of the fragrant globe; but now ’tis midnight, far at sea; 
the wind whistles through the shrouds; the ocean is a snowy foam; the ship 
nobly struggles with her mighty foes; the waves join the clouds, and form 
ghastly spectres on the whirlwind’s wings, belching threats of instant death 
to the affrighted mariners; the wrathful elements mimic the prayers and wails 
of all; the vessel severely labors in the frightful ocean caverns; the fatal 
mountain wave approaches; all see their impending doom; Oscar and Clara 
wildly embrace, and weep, and breathe ejaculations of melting pathos; all 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


9 


hearts, and eyes, and hands are raised to Heaven in frantic terror: the 
last universal moan expires on the pitiless winds; the sad wave passes: 
the chasm closes; the ship is buried, and goes down, never to rise; every voice 
is forever hushed in the deep ocean realms, and poor Clara Violet, the Cas¬ 
tilian child of my early dreams, and the adored companion of maturer years, 
is seen no more above the exasperated waves. And although she discarded me 
for Oscar Rivulet, I oft visit her pale and towering monument in Greenwood’s 
pensive vales, and drop fertilizing tears in memory of a happy and glorious 
past, that never can return to me again. Alas 

Poor Clara is at rest, 

And withers in the sea, 

And all the world is blest, 

Save memory and me. 

I oft dream of Clara, 

And of the rosy lawn, 

Where, in sunny weather, 

I saw her pretty form. 

The flowers all faded, 

And the birds flew away, 

And none were elated, 

Since Clara’s fatal day. 

And now, from my comet ramble through love’s infinitude, I will return to 
the varied scenes of childhood. 

The historian says that during the memorable gale of 1815, although but 
two years and a fraction old, I defied the midnight hurricane, and bravely fol¬ 
lowed my father in his flight, with my sick mother and infant in his arms, 
through water up to my knees, a hostile wave occasionally swallowing me, 
from whose frothy jaws I instantly emerged, and ultimately reached a blissful 
haven, amid the embraces of my father, and the screams of my mother, who 
supposed I was lost. 

I remember the woman’s school at four years old, and the merited chastise¬ 
ment of the school marm; my desperate descent on the sugar bowl; the mili¬ 
tary company of which I was commander; my annual cries in the trundle bed. 
at 12 o’clock and one second A. M., of, “I wish you merry Christmas, Ma,—I 
wish you happy New Year, Pa,—now gim me centwith my father’s, ‘-'Go 
to sleep, you young rascal, or I’ll come and spank youthe two cents I always 
got on the 4th of July, if I had been a good boy, and the solitary penny if I 
hadn’t; the death of my mother of twins; the copious tears of my father and 
aunt Lucy; my grief at her sudden demise; the country boarding school; th< 


10 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


blast of lightning that felled me to the earth, while whittling on the summer 
green; my eyes soon open on the glories of the lurid universe, and I scamper 
into the pretty cottage, and bound into the arms of my aunt, who nearly 
smothers me with affectionate embraces; the storm passes; a bow appears^ 
with crimson arrows, and lingers on the concave’s rosy verge, till Venus gleams 
through the twilight leaves, when its gorgeous hues are vailed by the revolv¬ 
ing spheres, and it descends the dazzling west, 

Whose Archer follows the resplendent sun, 

Before whose darts the stormy Furie3 run; 

the moon ascends the east in matchless splendor, and roams in tranquil beauty 
through infinitude, spreading its snowy light on vale and mead, that vie with 
lakes of liquid silver; my aunt lingers at my bed, while I say my evening 
prayer, and invests my heart with sacred feelings: myself and brother William, 
on our way to school, through a dreary wood, espy a boy in a wagon, when 1 
exclaim, “Why, Bill, there’s our brother Albert;” Bill stares and says, 
“ Steve, your perceptions are very foggy, and I begin to think you aint got 
good sense;” I closely scan the boy, and smile, but elicit no response, the little 
rogue riveting his bright blue eyes on the vacant air; Bill passes on to school, 
with, “ Steve, you are raving mad, and I’m going to tell aunt Freeman so f . 
when I address the stranger thus: “ Little boy, you look like my brother 
Albert, and this horse and wagon resemble ours, and wont you please to tell 
me if you aint my brother Al, who lives far away from here, in a place called 
Providence ? I always dearly loved him, whom I hav’nt seen for a long time, 
and I would like to see him very much; come, now, little boy, aint you Ally 
Branch, and if you are, won’t you please to tell me so ? ” Tears roll down 
his pale cheeks, followed by the sweetest smiles, (like simultaneous rain and 
sunshine,) extending his arms, with, “How do you do, dear brother Stevy f 
I scream; dart into the wagon, and, placing my arms around his neck, fondly 
kissed him. And then I made the woods ring with my cries for Bill to return, 
and behold our dear brother, found so mysteriously alone in the forest wild. 
Bill slowly returns; and I hear the echo of a laugh, and see a man emerge 
from the monarch oaks, whom I discern as father, whose playful stratagem 
blazes brightly before my enraptured vision. And with the velocity of light, 
I spring from the wagon, and at a bound, am in the embraces of my adored 
father. The vail slowly passes from the eyes of Bill, who stands like a statue 
in the dim perspective, crying lustily over my triumphant conquest. We all 
shout and wave our hands, and Willie bounds into Albert’s and father’s arms, 
whose fervent kisses soon dispel his tears; when his crescent and revolving 




LIFE OF STEPHEN II. BRANCH. 


11 


eyes, gently threaten to eclipse the sun and moon with hilarious splendor 
three happy brothers then rock the forest solitude with merry vociferations, 
and run like deer, and sing like infant Jubals, with sweet responses from con¬ 
genial birds, prancing on the oaks’ majestic branches. And with hearts of 
inexpressible gladness, we spring like hounds into the wagon, and return to 
aunt Freeman’s, and that I regard as one of the happiest days of my early 
boyhood. On the following morn, we leave for Providence, which I scarcely 
reach, ere our yard is a camp of boys, eager to embrace their favorite com¬ 
mander, after his long captivity in the desert wilds of Woodstock; myself 
and Albert soon go to another country school; we board with a minister who 
has a large family, and a small salary, which was tardily and scantily paid 
in very poor provisions; myself and A1 dont like the fare; has fried pork too 
often fur breakfast, and pork and beans for dinner, with a cold cut of pork 
and beans at nightfall; and we enter our solemn protest against so much fried 
pig, and so many baked beans; we protest, too, against his not fastening the 
doors and windows nights, as father does at home; we hear strange noises 
nights, while abed; and respectfully implore him to put locks on the doors, 
and nails in the windows, who refuses, and says, that good boys are never 
afraid of robbers or assassins; we still hear dreadful sounds at midnight; 
and bury ourselves, head and all, in the bed clothes; sweat terribly, and 
nearly smother; grow pale; lose flesh; get very weak; have cold night 
sweats; finally despair, and threaten to leave for home; write long letters to 
father, full of bad writing and spelling, who doesn’t answer them, because 
he can’t read them; we start for Providence; our sacred host pursues us on 
a cadaverous horse, whose ribs rattle, and captures us in the haunted woods, 
where, in old time, a man was murdered, and two lovers hung themselves, be¬ 
cause their parents wouldn’t let them marry; I and A1 were hurrying through 
this dreadful wood, when old cadaverous and the parson pounce upon us, who 
threatens to whip us if we don’t return, and cuts a switch for the purpose: 
his eyes roll terribly, and, as I once heard be was slightly insane at times, and 
fearing he might murder me, I gave the wink to Al, and we concluded to re¬ 
turn, very gently shaking our heads and fists, with threats of telling our 
• father all about it some day, who was a Justice of the Peace, and could lock 
up any body, and have them hung beside; to silence our unceasing clamors, 
the parson gets some cheap second-hand locks, and rusty nails, fastens the 
doors and windows nights, and gives us fried liver twice a week for breakfast, 
and lets pork and beans slide awhile, with very tender veal instead; don’t 
hear strange sounds at night any more; sleep very soundly; don’t hear the 
cheerless midnight winds as of yore; get fat as butter; are very contented ; 


12 


LIFE OF STEPHEN' H. BRANCH. 


Fourth of July close at hand; father comes after us; shed tears of joy, and 
run and jump like wild cats, and get home alive once more from a country 
boarding school; go to a party on the night of our arrival; Oscar Rivulet 
and Clara Yiolet are there; at the party’s close, I can’t find my hat, and while 
in its vigorous pursuit, Oscar takes the arm of Clara, when I step up and 
whisper in his ear, that I will chastise him the very next day for cutting me 
out; Oscar and Clara depart; I find my hat in the oven, where Oscar doubt¬ 
less put it, and begin to cry with rage; to console me, my aunt places the arm 
of Flora Rosebud in mine, who was a dashing little belle, with whom I slowly 
ramble towards her home beneath a brilliant sky; soon after I bid Flora good 
night, at her father’s door, a dark cloud rapidly arose and obscured the moon, 
and I became afraid, and ran fleetly home, expecting to meet an assassin 
at every corner’s turn, but when I heard the cheerful watchman’s cry of “ half 
past eight o’clock, and all’s well,” and beheld his noble form in the distance, 
my fears are tranquilized, and I walk as erect and firm as the hero of many 
battles, and loudly boast of my courage, after I get snugly in the trundle bed, 
with Albert, with the-shield of my father’s voice above me, to fortify my pre¬ 
tended valor. On the following day, my step-mother struck me on the head with 
a jacket with brass buttons, for my impudence at dinner in my father’s absence, 
because she would’nt give me more boiled onions, of which I was very fond; the 
blood flowed freely, and she was terrified lest I would bleed to death, and she be 
hung; she dressed the wounds most tenderly, and gave me plenty of onions 
and sugar, and warmly coaxed me not to tell father when he came to tea, lest 
he would gently chide her for her laceration of the skull of the prolific brain of 
the darling son who bore his own promising name of Stephen; and for many 
days she gave me candy and peanuts, and gave me so many onions that I have 
loathed them since; she even poulticed my lacerated head with boiled onions, 
which I smell to this day; 1 had the ear-ache, and she even put a small roast 
onion in my ear to check the pain; I once passed through Weathersfield, 
(where onions are as thick as leaves in the Yale of Vallambrosa,) whose at¬ 
mosphere caused me to fertilize its streets with bile; my step-mother finally 
stops my supplies of sweetmeats, and I threaten to tell my father of her vio¬ 
lent blow, and show him my scars, when she surrendered, and gave me sweet 
things for a long period; and she saved me many a whipping from my father, 
when I was mischievous, le3t I would tell and show the relics of her trouncing; 
which gave me a boundless latitude for pranks, until the scars all passed away; 
at this time, my dog Watch was drowned, but he rose the ninth day, and I 
buried him at the foot of my father’s garden, with funeral honors, a neigh¬ 
boring dog. in traces, bearing his precious body to the grave, over which 1 




LIFE OF STEPHEN II. BRANCH. 


13 


placed turf and stones in memory of a dog I dearly loved; after the funeral, 
Cornelius Snow, nicknamed Flop, called me names, and I told my father that 
Flop Sow had called me names, and I meant to lick him for it,” when 
my father effected a reconciliation, by allowing Cornelius to call me Steve 
as long as I called him Flop.. He had long been at the head of my class, 
at school, and I had never been at the head, which mortified my father, who 
told me if I would get above Flop through good spelling, he would give me a 
sixpence; I tried long and hard, but I couldn’t do it; so, on a very stormy 
day, while myself and Flop were the only boys of our spelling class at school, 
1 told him that if he would make a mistake in spelling, and let me keep at the 
head until school was over, I would give him three cents; Flop’consented, and 
broke down on beef, which he spelled b-e-a-p-h-f-e, for which the teacher boxed 
his ears, and made him see ten thousand sparkling stars; I got sixpence from 
my father, and gave Flop half of it; there was a full class the next day, and 
down I went to the foot, my usual place; my father learned of my col¬ 
lusion with Flop, and gave me a tremendous whipping; the next day I went 
several miles down Providence river, in a canoe with Elias Smith and Joseph 
Fuller, and was gone four days, and all the town was terribly excited lest we 
were lost; but Mr. Proud, a neighbor, of whose peaches and melons I was 
very fond, stuck to it like beeswax, that I would never be drowned, while hemp 
grew in Kentucky; the day after my return, my step-mother whips Albert for 
stealing a small lump of sugar, at about 11, A. M; father comes to dinner at 
12, M; Ally cried for a long time; but he began to lull, and I was afraid he 
would’nt hold out until father got home; so, I got Ally down cellar, and 
pinched him, and pulled his hair to make him keep it up, until father got 
home; it being near twelve o’clock, and my step-mother knowing my infiu- 
ence over Ally, told me if I would pacify him before father came to dinner, 
she would give me as much sugar as I wanted for a whole week; I accepted 
the bribe, but A1 overheard us, and declared that he would cry like thunder, 
until father came, if I didn’t give him half the sugar; we finally compro¬ 
mised, by allowing Ally a quarter of all the lumps I got; a few days after, 
while returning from a Saturday excursion down the river, my brother bill, 
cut up so, that the boat capsized, in very deep water, a short distance from the 
shore; Jim Baker and myself got on the bottom of the boat, while Bill’s 
feet and head were entangled in the ropes and sail; Sam Thurber and others 
swam to the shore; Jim Baker and myself couldn’t swim, and we expected to 
br lost; and we bellowed murder like fury; amid this awful scene, the owner 
of the boat came down the shore, and bellowed, “Pay for that boat, you ras¬ 
cals, pay for that boat;” he had scarcely breathed these brutal words, when 


14 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


down went Jim Baker and myself to the river’s bed; I rose to the surface first, 
and went down again, when Jim grabbed my leg, and we came up together, and 
a noble sailor seized and bore us to the shore, where we were put in barrels, and 1 
pints of water squeezed out of us; Jim and myself open our dewy eyes, shake 
hands, and walk home arm in arm, with the sailor behind, thrashing the boat 
proprietor for demanding pay, instead of coming to our rescue, whose unpar¬ 
alleled inhumanity the gallant tar couldn’t tolerate. I went to bed, and 
had a horrid night-mare, and dreamed of sharks and whales, mumps and mea¬ 
sles, coughs and cramps, mischief and pastime, master and pupil, College and 
capers, history and spectres, classics and ponies, mathematics and fog, law and 
Cambridge, Story and Greenleaf, clerks and commerce, Franklin and printing, ! 
editors and authors, travels and pleasures, perils and escapes, love and flowers^ 
ambition and disappointment, America and Europe, Asia and Africa, storms 
and oceans, Pelion and Ossa, nations and funerals, worms and Graham, board¬ 
ers and Barclay street, bells and breakfast, Douglas and Greeley, sweats and 
carbunkles, dyspepsia and skeletons, youth and indiscretion, nature and relief, 
lunatics and transcendentalists, philanthropists and philosophers, lecturers 
and itinerants, bran and squash, soup and slump, blankets and straw beds, cis¬ 
terns and deluge, morning and twilight, mummies and bath-boxes, hooks 
and strings, breaks and rushes, waters and cataracts, barrels and hogsheads, 
Grahamites and phrenzy, floats and routs, coats and hats, chairs and umbrel¬ 
las, carpets and divans, pails and tubs, servants and fright, streets and disha¬ 
billes, baths and boils, crises and salt rheum, carrots and beans, winds and 
volcanos, eruptions and lava, Job and patience, elections and frauds, candidates 
and strikers, bullies and plunderers, Gouraud and mnemonics, “ astonishing 
and wonderful,” tornadoes and earthquakes, memory and millenium, schools 
and chaos, study and obsoleteness, mind and universality, crutches and super¬ 
annuation, gums and wigs, dumb and blind, hither and thither, centennials 
and Methuselahs, disease and decrepitude, paralysis and hecatombs, gongs 
and resurrections, stools and crickets, charcoal and blackboards, specs and ear- 
horns, attorneys and judges, Butler and Oakley, Greeley and Bryant, Anthon 
and Griswold, Snow and McElrath, boquets and presents, teacher and desk, 
tricks and scholars, switch and silence, sachels and candy, marbles and peanuts, 
licorice and taffa, primmers and pictures, primitives and correlatives, astronomy 
and hieroglyphics, letters and digits, fundamentals and bases, attention and 
gapes, recitation and chorus : “ Se te ne me re le she ke fc pef numericals and 

012 345 6789 

equivalents, combinations and translations, now and all together: “ Satan may 
relish coffee pie,” and i( My Deary Dolly be no chilly f ruler and reverbera- 



LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


15 


tions, babes and mistakes, Butler and boxed ears, Oakley and demerit, Greeley 
and ferule, Bryant and spanks, Anthon and dark hole, Griswold and after 
school hours, Snow and high seat, McElrath and fine of mnemotechnic puff, pu¬ 
pilage and cash advances, (mum’s the word,) sacred honor and revelations, hush 
and guilt, noise and cats, blood and dead, copyrights and ghosts, Stephen and 
sunlight, Paris and Feinagle, sold and gold, pupils and blushes, dreams and 
illusions, obscurity and finis, Sunderland and Sonnambula, Rodolpho and 
Amina, justice and revenge, Chagres and alligators, showers and sunshine, 
snakes and anacondas, lizzards and spiders, monkeys and scorpions, brandy 
and banana, milk and pine apple, rats and poison, (fever and ague and the 
fatal fifth shake,) priests and grave diggers, vultures and prey, Stephen and 
“ Herald ,” letters and excitement, California and gold, Francisco and desolation, 
one boarding-house and one hotel, gales and mist, mud and deserts, dice and 
faro, Broderick and murderous “hounds,” Stephen and rescue, mines and as¬ 
sassins, heat and death, widows and orphans, vermin and scurvy, rum and de¬ 
lirium, gouged eyes and split skulls, bread and Jerkey, Indians and Oregonians, 
wolves and kiotas, wild cows and rattle-snakes, grizzly bears and panthers, 
three month’s rain and grass six feet high, tule mires and slumps to your hat, 
travellers and instant disappearances in the mud, nine months drought and 
deserts of Egypt, no blossoms and verdure, crevices and dry creeks, scarcity of 
gold and wide-spread desolation. Mexicans and Peruvians, Chinese and Hot¬ 
tentots, New York and the cholera, Carson and the politicians, seven years and 
deadly war, truth and vanquished, firemen and patriots, Briggs and Sam-son, 
thieves and garroters, fight and fright, right and flight, macs and racks, Pat 
and Ireland, letters and Board of Aldermen, (City Hall, New York, and In¬ 
dependence Hall, Philadelphia,) clerks and records, naturalization and gam¬ 
mon, Cork and Bandon, guilt and tremulation, offices and bribes, valuables 
and furniture, parchments and frames, [non est inventus ,) silence and surren¬ 
der, Tammany and philosophers, Wright and wrong, Owen and sleep, discus¬ 
sions and diversion, pursers and secretaries, smooth and oil, Bull and London, 
Monte and Canada, Free and Bond, advents and infants, abjuration and coun¬ 
try, specs and rovers, trappers and miners, blankets and Indians, Savannahs 
and perfume, traders and marches, halts and births, liars and biographers 
ambition and Presidency, Stephen and disappearance, return and surprise 
Stephen and Bennett, Fremont and Canada, Montreal and three days, ambush 
and terror, priests and clerks, cemeteries and mausoleums, departures and dis¬ 
guises, cars and detection, cats and moans, thunderbolts and “Daily Times' 
defeat and Pennsylvania, the Union and preservation, liberty and the last man 
rockets and eagles, truth and patriotism, God and Washington, Brandon ana 


16 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


’17, emigrants and midnight, wagons and London, Perseus and passengers, 
lust and tumult, debtors and runaways, convicts and brands, Portsmouth and 
Halifax, Amboy and New York, Madison and Niblo’s, Broadway and Lafay¬ 
ette Hall, rum and trimmings, baskets and lanes, Broome and Bowery, 
Bleecker and Allen, Pearl and Chatham, obscenity and indictments, Wright 
and Owen, disciples and enthusiasts, primaries and hitters,, stuffers and mur¬ 
derers, Judge and Chief, Jeffries and villain, truth and affadavits, trials and 
convictions, Board of Aldermen and ejections, execrations and the people, 
shysters and straw bailers, justice and triumphs, Commissioners and scamps, 
raps and Bloomingdale, dogs and Williamsburg, forgery and mutilation, 
Aids and minions, Marines and Courts, Anno Domini and ’ 27 , Lawyer 
and Points, error and client, truth and witness, terrible and appalling, privy 
and pity, loss and discomfiture, despair and fatality, abuse and salvation, Bray 
and pay, exhilaration and gain, Corporation and Chief cases, $5,000 and 
suits, theft and pretended honor, plausibility and hypocrisy, stabs and amende , 
toys and children, mother and chastity, youth and ambition, father and prodi¬ 
gal, politics and arena, Tombs and corners, birth and residence, education and 
association, coarse and vulgar, braggart and detractor, Europe and pursuit, 
Burr and Elizabeth, Cain and twain, travelling companions and clerks, records 
and mystery, marriage and brothers-in-law, remorse and pastime, Saturdays 
and Sundays, Irish and Club Society, three hundred and leader, tocsin and 
rally, fury and attack, “ the word ” and instant death, fanaticism and Hiber¬ 
nians, dark lanterns and eclipses, Brays and cannibals, three hundred avoir¬ 
dupois and green specs, indolence and roast beef, the biggest rogue and the 
shield of criminals, Stanton and revelry, hunters and the Jerseys, City Hall 
caverns and modern brigands, overshadowing perjurer and 

Alien —(in snowy costume by my bed,) Good morning, Stephen. Alone, 
as ever, in thy early ramble with the god of morn ? 

Stephen —Thy words molest me. 

Alien —Shall I stroll with thee, and break the dreary silence of thy solitude? 

Stephen —Only nature’s fragrance, and music birds, and brilliant planets 
roam with me in vale and mountain 

Alien —Where’s thy kindred ? 

Stephen —Sweetly reposing in the sepulchre. 

Alien— What cheers thee in thy desolation ? 

Stephen —The contemplation of their noble virtues. 

Alien —Hast no pure, gentle, vocal and classic lady to warm and nourish 
thy affections? 

Stephen —Clara Violet is dead. 



LIFE OF STEPHEN II. BRANCH. 


17 


Alien —Who was she ? 

Stephen —My first love. 

Alien —Hast no children to mirror thy early purity and happiness? 
Stephen —Not a bud or blossom. 

Alien —Dost ever smile? 

Stephen —When thunder appals the vicious. 

Alien —Why in that dread hour? 

Stephen —Because virtue has a festival. 

Alien —Dost ever weep? 

Stephen —When vice is unbridled. 

Alien —What theme is chief in thy soliloquies ? 

Stephen —The glories of eternity. 

Alien —What is the sweet oasis of thy being ? 

Stephen —Prayer. 

Alien —Dost scan thy life in thy sacred meditations ? 

Stephen —Back to childhood. 

Alien —What dost behold ? 

Stephen —A dismal retrospection. 

Alien —Dost see a rainbow in thy vista ? 

Stephen —Not a hue. 

Alien —Hast hope ? 

Stephen —In the Savior. 

Alien —Art forgiven by all thy species? 

Stephen —I fear not. 

Alien —Wilt cherish my genial compassion? 

Stephen —As a glorious solace. 

Alien —My love is thine. 

Stephen —My smiles are thine. 

Alien —Thy hand. 

Stephen —My heart. 

Alien —O, Stephen! 

Stephen —O, Alien! 

Alien —Hast disclosed thy melancholy story ? 

Stephen —To rocks and caves, and winds and waves from, my native cJ'Jt6 
Alien —Wilt chide me, if I crave thy sad and mysterious past ? 

Stephen —Meet me in the forest of St. Mary’s, on the grassy borders o? 
Brandon’s placid stream, at sacred evening chimes, and, beneath the moon, 
(high and full,) and the congenial stars, I’ll disclose a tale of sorrow that 
would drown a Stoic’s eye. My poor heart oft yearns relief from the burning 
tears that swell it with bewildering emotions. 






IS 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


Alien —Thy warm embrace. 

Stephen —Soul to soul. 

Alien —This is perfect bliss. 

Stephen —Thee I’ll sadly miss. 

Alien —And now farewell. 

Stephen —A fond adieu. And I again implore thee to come at pensive twi¬ 
light shades, amid the mournful music of the Cathedral bells, (that have sung 
their pious strains to centuries,) and in thy solitary walk to the river’s fertile 
verge, brace thy nerves for a tale of horror that will make thee stare like an 
affrighted owl in a midnight storm. Again, thy hand, and now farewell until 
we meet on the sweet banks of Brandon’s silver stream. Fail not! 

Alien —I feel nervous. Blast that owl. I see him now, with his fiery balls 
riveted upon me. I never liked owls. And what a cold grip Stephen gave 

me at departure. I feel it yet. And how his eyes flashed and rolled in their 

expiring glances. O my soul! If I meet him down the river, he may, in his 
lightning flashes, seize my throat, and thrust me into a hogshead, full of 
apertures, and sink me to the river’s mud, where crabs and flounders may 
crawl into my stomach, and nibble my spleen and kidneys. Ghosts and gob¬ 
lins ! My bowels grieve at the bare thought. I fear my race is nearly run. 
I dare not go, lest I drop dead on the way. Who’s there ? I heard moans 
with piercing echos. O. I must meet Stephen, who told me, with a terrific 

stare, to fail not! 1 saw sulphur in his eye, when he breathed those fatal 

words. If I don’t meet him, he may deem me treacherous, and make a statue 
of me. Again I hear dismal tones, with fearful reverberations. The ground 
trembles! O, I’m doomed! I feel the claws of Nicholas. I see hideous 
spectres flitting through the atmosphere. My time is come. I must prepare 
to meet him, or I'll be hurled to wasteless flames. I’ll pray and read the scrip¬ 
tures for the first and last time. O me, I smell brimstone. What’s that? 
I heard Stephen’s awful voice on the chaotic air. 1 hear it still, summoning 
the Universe to arms. Where am I? What do I behold? O, Immortal 
Gods! Lightnings flash from orb to orb, and illuminate the universal realms! 
Convulsions rock immensity ! A million worlds are in concussion, and dying 
wails go up to God from every habitation. Phantoms and skeletons dart 
through infinitude. Oceans dash against the mountains, and threaten them 
with submersion. The globe opens, and demons ascend, and glare upon me, 
and beckon me towards the yawning gulph! My crimes appal me amid this 
crash of spheres, and the pale victims of my villainy flit before my affrighted 
vision, and overwhelm me with horror! Burning arrows pierce my frame, 
and I inhale the vapors of liquid fire ! Mercy! mercy ! mercy! 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


19 


CHAPTER SECOND. 


Brandon River by moonlight—Stephen pacing its banks—Alien approach¬ 
ing in great fear. 


Alien —O Stephen! 

Stephen —Why so tardy, sir ? I looked for thee at twilight, but now ’tis 

1 midnight. 

Alien —The wrath of fiends and elements detained me, and I have just 
emerged from chaotic brimstone. 

Stephen —It was the nightmare, which oft afflicts the glutton and inebriate, 
thief and infidel, or lean dyspeptic, panting for immortal shadows. I came 
near drowning once, was rolled on barrels, had force pumps applied, threw 
water from my mouth, like Sikesy from his butt, and went to bed, and had 
an awful nightmare. O, that was a dreadful night, and I can truly sympa¬ 
thise with thee. 

Alien —I am fat; love beef and brandy, girls and fun; get money at every 
hazard; have a peculiar faith, and would rule the world in mercy. But I 
am no Lambert, nor epicure, nor sot, nor rogue, nor pant for selfish glory; nor 
have I been wrecked, and cast among the whales, nor rolled in hogsheads, nor 
had tubes thrust down my throat, nor belched water to Chimborazo’s peak, 
and therefore had no cause for nightmare. Nor did I even dream. I saw with 
eyes, and not through phantoms, and all was dread reality. And, be in¬ 
credulous as you may, I beheld a million devils, and heard the crash of ten 
thousand worlds. 

Stephen —Were the stars visible? 

Alien —I saw not one. All had gone to their sweet repose. 

■ Stephen —You say your faith is peculiar. I would know its outline. 

Alien —I would not disclose it in this midnight solitude. 

Stephen —Dost fear thy faith? Would echos of its proclamation alfiight 
j thy ears ? Do shadows appal thee ? Instantly divulge it. 

Alien —O, where am I ? 

’ Stephen —In presence of truth, and the modern Stephen. 

Alien —What if my faith militates with thine? 







20 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


Stephen —I will not harm thee. 

Alien —Shall I disclose my naked breast? 

Stephen —Tell all. 

Alien —And .you will smile? 

Stephen —Like a summer constellation. 

Alien —Well, death is a sleep of mind and matter. Human accountability 
is a base delusion, and eternal damnation is the scarecrow of a cornfield. The 
sun and moon and seasons had no architect, and roam in realms of chance, 
like the beings who behold their gorgeous beauty for'a day, and disappear for¬ 
ever. Paine and Owen are saints and beacons to our race. My father was a 
warm disciple of Fanny Wright. My brother, (who reposes on a sepulchral 
shelf,) was her devoted Secretary, while I sold her books and other publica¬ 
tions, with gaudy pictures, for which I was indicted, but I bellowed persecu¬ 
tion, and Fanny rushed to Tammany, and besought in my behalf, and I soon 
was in the Customs, and became a Judge and Chief, (and administered oaths, 
with sweet kisses from the hallowed volumes of Paine, Wright and Owen, 
with accidental smacks from dictionaries and directories, instead of from the 
immodest and truthless Bible of the Christians,) and I owe all 


To ray dear Fanny 
And to Tammany, 

who launched me on my civil and infidel career. The Janus Christian says 
that I must believe in his creed or be damned, but I will be damned if I do. 

Stephen —This bold confession of thy accursed faith, with its dire results 
to all within thy reach, moves my brain with thoughts of fire, and rivets my 
eyes, like owls’, upon thee. 

Alien —You said you would not harm me for my faith. 

Stephen —I will not. But why does thy body tremble, and thy face reflect 
the palor of untrodden snow ? 

Alien —Because your eyes flash and roll in tears of blood, and mirror the 
Christian’s view of the unbeliever’s hell. 

Stephen —The eye of Christian virtue defies a devil’s glare. 

Alien —Pity my nerves and spare me. 

Stephen —Compose thyself, and let us approach yon plaintive wfillow, and 
recline beneath its graceful branches. 

Alien —’Tis so dark in that direction. 

Stephen —That’s what I seek. The orbs tell tales. I would be within im¬ 
penetrable shades. The moon’s pale sentinels cross not the shadow’s verge of 
yon majestic willow. Take my arm, and let us pass its confines, and shield 



LIFE OF STEPHEN II. BRANCH. 


21 


ourselves within the folds of its capacious mantle. Seat thyself on the sweet 
turf, and listen to my tale of wo, amid this willow’s tranquil gloom. 

Alien —I hear strange voices. 

Stephen —Monster! I fear thou didst not come alone. 

Alien —I did—l did—on my life I did. 

Stephen —’Tis well, then. But if thou didst not, ’twill be ill for thee. 

Alien —O, do impart thy mournful story, that I may leave this gloomy 
wood. 

Stephen —Peace, and I will. Well, on this sacred spot, the sun and moon 
and stars have spread their cheerful rays since the morning of creation. The 
silent and invisible centuries have paced this forest ground, and left no trace of 
their mysterious source and destiny. British monarchs have been here, proceed¬ 
ed by Roman conquerors of the early ages. O’er yon hill, where now a meteor 
falls, is the classic Cambridge, and the crumbling ruins of a high antiquity. 
The bloody Gloster, and proud Elizabeth, and mighty Cromwell dwelt near 
this dismal wood, whose prolific machinations, and towering castles, and sad and 
joyous reverberations have vanished before the resistless wheels of time. Shakes¬ 
peare oft lingered beneath the sires of these oaks and willows, in his pensive 
and mirthful meditations. And now, on this classic soil, that Caesar conquered, 
and pale ambition oft has fertilized with human blood; amid the dilapidations 
of centuries, and the ancient dead beneath our feet, who once inhaled this 
forest perfume, and the infant millions ascending yon horizon from the invisi¬ 
ble and exhaustless future; here, on the rosy verge of Brandon’s murmuring 
waters, amid the funeral processions of nations and of distant planets, and 
the silver rays of an unwearied moon that has roamed and smiled on pure and 
blushing lovers through all the years of God; here, before the assembled con¬ 
stellations of a tranquil midnight, and amid the withering execrations of all 
thy race, I will divulge “thy” infernal retrospection. I decoyed thee hither 
with fallacious beacons, and pledged a revelation of my mournful pilgrimage, 
while it was thy awful crimes I would disclose to thy astounded species. 
Mine has been a weary march from east to west, and 1 would not return to 
laughing childhood, to plod again through vales of penury, pain, and wrong, 
towards the dismal realms of withered bones and departed spirits, that pol¬ 
lute and desecrate the fragrant orbs and sacred skies. My fragile form is 
mirrored in the fatal gulf, where an enthusiastic soldier fell, in pursuit of 
the enemies of his country. I love God and the Bible, and laws that curb 
the human brutes of earth; and I yearn for a tranquil home in the eternal 
Elvsium of the celestial creations. But these pure affections and aspirations 
are vulnerable batteries against the unconquerable battlements of my evil 


22 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


genius. I am pale with error, but am no pernicious perjured monster, who 
has uplifted his awful arms against the nativity of his country. I shall en¬ 
shrine my pensive story in the fervent bosom of a truthful historian, who will 
remove the vail from my rambles over earth and ocean, with sad excursions 
in Cleopatra’s barge, when I am calmly reposing in the cherished mausoleum 
of my native land. But thy dark meanderings, and communion with evil 
spirits, and deeds of horror, I will proclaim to the children of universal na¬ 
ture. Open, then, thy guilty ears, for piercing tones that should paralize thy 
demon brain. You were born in Brandon, and yet to clutch the spoils of 
office, you swore you were American, and thus abjured thy native flag, and 
cliffs, and skies. You also swore your father was never naturalized, and, 
reeking with perjury and consummate villainy, you forged thy father’s natu¬ 
ralization, to foil unconquerable evidence of thy alienage, and to occupy the 
fortress of a Chief, and to wield the sword of usurpation over the eternal ene¬ 
mies of thy country. You offered my brother wealth and power if he would 
dissuade me from thy dissection, and thus be recreant to a confiding Corpo¬ 
ration, and to integrity and patriotism. For years you have traced amorous 
citizens of the aristocratic avenues to dens of harlots and gamesters, and 
trapped them beyond escape, and then forced the affluent and terror-stricken 
wretches to disgorge their gilded treasure, and heal the leprosy of yourself 
and cronies with the panacea of “public cards,” on the eve of elections, to 
mislead and distract the people, and divert their suffrage from the choice of 
men of honor, to the selection of a gang of plunderers from your own en¬ 
campment. And thus you act the sneak and coward, and rifle the wealthy 
libertine, and snap a tyrant’s lash, and brandish a British sabre over the 
Americans, from New York to the distant wilds of Minnesota, whose fair domain 
you have absorbed, and swarmed with aliens, invested with electric suffrage, 
through your collusion with thieves and traitors, and public-land-sharks of \ 
the American Congress. Thou art a precocious villain! Stir not! Behold 
my dagger’s gleam ! It is the sword of Justice, and pants for havoc and re- 
venge. Move not, while I strip thee to thy skin, and heart, and marrow, and 
trace thee from thy baptismal font, (through nearly half a century of perjury 
and stupendous villainy,) to thy present den of Hell in the City Hall! And 
do thy jaws chatter ? Dost thy tongue project ? Dost thou quake, lest the 
moaning ground shall open and swallow thee as food for Tartarus ? Thy 
bloody eyes, and freezing veins, and ghastly contortions, and palsied limbs, 
brand thee as a perjured alien, and unparalleled usurper, and Chief ballot 
stuffer east of the Rocky Mountains. Thy ballot-fraud is a source of wo to 
my noble country, elects thieves to its public temples, bears the mob into the 




LIFE OF STEPHEN' IT. BRANCH. 


23 


Capitol and White House, and threatens to drive the bird of liberty to more 
congenial skies, and overwhelm the States in undistinguished ruin! Recall 
from thy spectral memory, the noble Americans thou hast blighted with thy 
awful vengeance; the innocent and helpless captives thou hast consigned to 
cold and sunless dungeons, to pass their weary years in tears and wails; the 
country thou hast disowned and degraded ; thy crony robbers, incendiaries, 
rapes, assassins, and ballot demons ; the great Brandon Records, and thy whole 
life <_>f perjury and crime, and shudder in awe of the people’s execrations, and 
the terrible wrath of God ! And shall I now clutch, and pinch, and punch, 
and prick thee, and pull thy hair, and tear out thy eyes and tongue, and slowly 
sever thy joints, and legs, and arms, and bear the residue of thy huge carcass 
to some projecting cliff, and hurl it to the rocks aud breakers of an ocean 
shore, maddened by a whirlwind from a frigid sea ? 

Alien’s mouth is distended; his eyes are balls of fire; his cheeks of icy 
palor; he wails in wild and touching accents, and breathes terrible ejaculations 
of revenge; blood streams from his ears, and mouth, and nostrils, and he gasps 
and falls, with the pale finger of Retribution pointing to his abode of undying 
torture, while these fragments of confession flow' slowly from his expiring lips: 
“ Brandy ! brandy ! I say ! Give me brandy! for I am in my dying convul¬ 
sions. O, my dear sister, Mary, do come and rescue thy perjured alien brother, 
now on his trial in the Court of Death, for stealing, and falsely-swearing, and 
tearing, and blotching, and forging father’s naturalization records in the Ma¬ 
rine Court, to foil my removal from office, through the Brandon Records, and 
terrible living testimony of my alienage, which I always knew, remembering 
well the memorable night in IS 17, when we all run away from Brandon to 
liOndon, I being then more than six years old; I also remember the voyage 
from London to Portsmouth; the storm at sea; the famine; the hellish seduc¬ 
tion onboard, which terribly exasperated the passengers; Dick, the pauper, 
who hid in the vessel’s hold, and came out for food on the third day; how he 
was kicked and cuffed about the deck; Dick’s subsequent courtship on board; 
our arrival at Halifax; exchange of vessels; arrival at Amboy; residence 
there; arrival in New York; the carman who carried ourselves and luggage 
to Madison street, and subsequently to Broadw'ay. This is all vivid in my 
recollection; and how oft we have talked of Brandon, with our father and 
mother, and how dearly they loved that pretty village and its noble inhabi¬ 
tants. I was afraid to die an Atheist, and I have made my peace with God, 
as a Christian. And O that I had not elected myself to all the municipal 
offices I ever held, through the employment of ruffians, ballot stuffing, and 
bribery. I acted the coward at the Astor Place riots, when a little courage 


24 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


might have saved the inhuman slaughter on that occasion. I have always 
kept the public stolen property. I never conformed to the law in regard to 
auction sales for the public stolen property, preferring to keep it myself, which 
I deeply regret. 1 have protected British convicts, and favored the culprits 
of all countries more than the Americans, whom I always despised, which is 
natural for an Englishman, after the ungrateful rebellion of the Americans 
about tea and taxes, and their subsequent chastisement of their own mother, 
and her humiliation before the civilized world. No true Englishman ever 
could love the Americans, whose rights I have trampled like spiders, when I 
could do so without detection. The Americans always supposed I loved them, 
but I terribly bamboozled them, and I regret it on my dying bed, for they 
have certainly been very kind to me, and have permitted me to retain office, 
when I should have been lynched, or sent to prison for life, for my wholesale 
alien perjury, and for my villany in originating the “ stuffed-ballot-box, : ” 
which produced the bloody scenes in Francisco. I have always faithfully 
guarded the interests of my dear friends, the policy dealers, lottery swin¬ 
dlers, gamblers, wealthy harlots, abortionists, thieves, and murderers, through 
the Grand and Petit Juries, which I have packed through alien County 
Clerks, whom I have long elected, through my stuffed ballot box, with the 
understanding that I could pack juries when I desired. 1 have often got five 
thousand dollars for a packed jury from a wealthy convict. I have dogged 
young and old villains to disreputable houses half my life, and inscribed their 
names in my black book, which has been the Chief source of my prodigious 
power. And I defied the world in arms to turn me uut, while my mystic black 
book remained in my iron safe. Through this magic volume, I commanded 
the astounding influence of a hundred millions of dollars. Mum was always 
the word with rakes, who would kneel and serve me with the fidelity of slaves, 
and loan me money, which I never would return, and invite me to their magni¬ 
ficent festivals, and make me their equal if not superior, among their bewitch¬ 
ing daughters, and intellectual and aristocratic guests, and sign “public cards” 
for myself and friends when in danger of removal, or before the people for 
office. I always made them shell out liberally from their money bags when I 
was in danger, and if they hesitated, I would threaten to expose them, and 
destroy the peace, happiness, and reputation of their families. One blast of 
this kind would humble them to the dust, and extort thousands, and one 
wealthy rascal actually cried before me, and embraced, and kissed me, in spite 
of my remonstrance; and fearing my threats had pilfered too heavily from his 
coffers, and that I had prevented the payment of his notes at bank, and that 
my villainy had partially destroyed his reason, I offered to refund a large 


LIFE OF STEPHEN II. BRANCH. 


25 


amount, but he refused to receive it, with the remark that he did not need it, 
and true enough he did not, for that very night he committed suicide. And 
I do hope God will forgive me for bearing so heavily on that poor old man, 
who died a bankrupt, and I fear through my heartless extortion. I sent a 
thousand dollars to his interesting family, under an anonymous signature, to 
slightly atone for my robbery of a venerable husband and father, whom I sup¬ 
posed to be extremely affluent. I have often seen the old gentleman in my 
dreams, and have suffered terribly for my extortion. Through these vile 
sources of revenue and power and ballot stuffing, and through the mighty 
Police organization, which was obedient to my autocratic behests, I have elect¬ 
ed Mayors, Common' Councils, Heads of Departments, Judges, Governors, 
State and National Legislators, and controlled the alien National appoint¬ 
ments at home and abroad. The law forbids a municipal officer from pur¬ 
chasing city property, under the penalty of impeachment, and yet I have al¬ 
ways done so, and have had four hundred conveyances of city property, (for ar- 
rear of taxes,) as recorded in the Comptroller's books; and a large portion of 
this vast property belonged to widows and orphans, who sacrificed it from their 
inability to pay the heavy taxes levied by municipal plunderers. I had two 
talmas from the pall of an illustrious statesman, and his ghost has haunted 
me ever since. I burned the garments to get rid of the ghosts, but they still 
visited me, though not so often as when I wore the fatal talmas. 1 was ex¬ 
amined by an alien, and in the office of an alien, to practice law in one of the 
higher Courts. I have always supported aliens for office, to the exclusion of 
citizens. And perjured aliens stood highest in my regard, and received my 
warmest support. I belong to a Perjured Alien Society, for the monopoly of 
office, but I cannot disclose the names of the members, as I would involve 
some of my own kindred, and dear friends whom I have known and cherished 
since my arrival in America from Brandon. I sent a man six times, (whom I 
have since had appointed Surgeon of Police,) to a Branch of the human fam¬ 
ily, to get a Branch of the Alligator family, to let up on me, and spare me 
from degradation and the rack, in matters of alienage. I authorized my Agent 
to promise unlimited wealth and power, if the Human Branch would induce 
the Alligator Branch to w r ithdraw r his jaw from my hide. But the Alligator 
Branch threatened to devour the Human Branch, (his brother,) if he breathed 
to him such an infamous proposition a second time. Human Branch told my 
Agent this melancholy intelligence, and I closed negotiations, lest the Alligator 
should devour me. My Agent threatened to expose me, and I had to get him 
appointed a Police Surgeon to keep him still, which fat berth he now holds 
and enjoys, and I hope he will retain it long after I am dead, and my bones 


26 


LIFE OF STEPHEN II. BRANCH. 


are withered. I cant disclose other deeds of infamy and horror, lest I impli¬ 
cate my old associates and benefactors, who might tell some tales of blood of 
me, which would forever curse and haunt my innocent posterity. Besides, my 
disclosures would consign the wives and children of my old associates and bene¬ 
factors to eternal odium, and forever destroy their peace and happiness on 
earth. I am now dying, and I most fervently implore God to forgive my enor¬ 
mous crimes, although I merit the fate of all departed villains, and those liv¬ 
ing monsters who should be hewers of “ Wood” and drawers of water, and soup 
their fare, a dungeon their B'btindary, a plank their bed, and a block their pil¬ 
low, instead of wielding the sacred destinies of Cities, States, and Nations, 
with their sweet luxuries of nature, and beds of roses, procured from their 
plunder of the people, whom they drive into cellars and garrets, and sicken 
and starve them, and gallop them off to Potters Field. But I must close my 
confession, for Death is fastening his cold fangs upon me. More brandy! 
light up the room! ? tis terribly dark! I see my scaffold, hemp, populace, and 
executioner! I choke with fear, and froth, and coagulated blood! I am giddy, 
and going to wasteless flames! 

Mortals ! beware ! for I’m most gone 
To realms of night without a morn ; 

To be the sport of a demon’s whim, 

Because I wore a villain’s skin. 


Death— Alien! prepare! 

Alien —And are you there ? 
Death —I’m here to-night! 
Alien —Do quit my sight! 
Death —Great Justice moans! 
Alien —I dread its groans! 
Deatli —It yearns thy. blood! 
Alien —Have mercy, God! 
Deatli —Look not above! 

Alien —God still is love! 

Death —Sealed is thy fate! 
Alien —Is prayer too late? 
Death —In rogue’s last hour! 
Alien —Thy tongue is sour! 
Death —Thy crimes are black! 
Alien —Thy words do rack! 





LJFK OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


27 


Death —Thy victims yell! 

Alien —I fear their knell! 

Death —Thy time is come! 

Alien —Farewell bright sun! 

Death —Behold my bow! 

Alien —Thy arrow ! O! 

Ghost —He now is dead, 

And by his head, 

And wormy feet, 

Sad villains meet, 

To drop a tear, 

O’er one as dear 
To them as life. 

In evil strife, 

Who cherish him, 

And all his kin, 
Because he swore 
To lies by score, 

And let them run 
In blazing sun, 

And hid from view 
Their rendezvous, 

And took his share 
Of plunder rare, 

And saved them all 
From hangman‘s pall, 
And raised his hand 
Against the land, 

That gave him birth, 
And childhood’s hearth. 
But I’ll away 
From this array 
Of villain hosts, 

To realms of ghosts. 

Retribution —Vultures! away! 

With thy vile prey, 



28 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


Whose bones let rot, 

In yonder lot, 

He stole last year, 

For tax arrear, 

From a widow, 

On her pillow, 

By his treason, 

Robbed of reason, 

Till suicide 
At river side, 

When Potter’s Field 
Became her shield. 

Old Demon —Light up the fires! 

And bang the gongs! 

A Chief expires! 

Who here belongs! 

Young" Demons —Great Sire ! we will 
Our turnace fill! 

And beat the gongs! 

And heat the tongs ! 

Old Demon —Seize his vile soul! 

And roast it well! 

While ages roll! 

In flames of Hell! 

Young Demons —Down! villain! down! 

Without a frown ! 

To the hot town! 

Where souls are brown ! 

Stephen emerges from his prolific dream, whose realization will be depicted 
in future Chapters, which will truly mirror the romantic story of his life, 
and lash the unblushing Brandon rascal and usurper from his mighty throne, 
hurl his British cap to Gesler’s grave, tear his robes to rags, cut his flesh to 
fragments, burn his bones to ashes, and cast them to the annihilation of the 
whirlwind! 





LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


29 


CHAPTER THIRD. 


From my somnambulic rambles over continents and oceans, 


With my bow and quiver, 

On old Brandon river, 

I will return to the boyhood scenes of my native land. 

On the day after the boat calamity of Jim Baker and myself on Provi¬ 
dence River, I arose with the glorious sun, ate a spare repast, and went to 
school. My stomach yet complained of salt water, and my head and books 
were at rapiers’ points. The teacher, Shaw, vainly chides me for my indo¬ 
lence, and summons me before him, and demands my spelling-book, and give3 
me genuine , which. I spell “ gen-ner-iuine” The school is convulsed in the 
wildest screams. Shaw seizes his lignumvitae ruler, dar(s through the aisles, 
rolls his big gray eyes, and bangs the desks until the dust rises into clouds, 
when the mirthful tumult is hushed into the silence of a tomb, and he bids 
me take my seat, with furious cuffs of both ears. My brother Bill had been 
snickering in his hat, and sleeve, and handkerchief, until be had saturated 
them all with his hilarious tears, and, as I passed him on my way to my seat, 
he burst into a genuine Branch laugh, and all again was chaos. The scholars 
were more uproarious than before, and Shaw rages furiously, and calls up Bill, 
when all is silent terror, and every eye is riveted on its book. Shaw demands 
Bill to extend his right hand, which he declines to do, because he has got a 
felon, and tender warts all over its palm and knuckles. Shaw then com¬ 
mands him to hold up his left hand, and Bill obeys, when Shaw’s eye3 flash 
sparks of tire, his cheeks are deathly pale, and his ferule descends with tre¬ 
mendous violence 


On the vacant air, 

As Bill’s hand want there! 

The scholars roar again, and clap their little hands, and stamp their feet 
in the wildest ecstacy, when Shaw bellows like a rabid bull, and gesticulates 
fatality to the rebellious scholars, whose eyes fall quickly on their books, and all 


30 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


violently move their pallid lips, with pretense of study, while a terrible revenge 
rankles in their hearts, for Shaw’s cruel treatment of Bill, who has so many 
warts and a felon, with salt water still gurgling in his ocean belly. At 
Shaw’s wrathful behest, Bill again raises his trembling hand, and keeps his 
eye fastened on Shaw’s; and as the ruler nears his palm, he dodges, when 
Shaw flies to his scholastic throne for his cow-skin, and descends his ramparts 
with the pomposity of a king, calmly surveying his juvenile and affrighted 
subjects, and directs Bill to remove his jacket, who firmly declines. Shaw 
seizes him, and Bill cries murder; the girls w r eep and faint, and water is 
sprinkled on their cheeks and foreheads; the boys shake their fists, and dare 
each other to rush to Bill’s rescue, but Shaw threatens them with utter anni¬ 
hilation if they interfere, and the belligerent and affrighted boys leave poor 
Bill to his unhappy fate. Fortunately for Bill, Shaw is short and of very slen¬ 
der mould. Bill is stout, knows well the physical weakness of his adversary, 
and proves himself fully equal to the awful crisis before him. For, while Shaw 
strives to get Bill across his knees to switch and spank him, Bill, by a sudden 
and very elastic movement, gets between, and coils himself, like a snake, 
around Shaw’s legs, and pinches, and bites, and tears his pants, and finally 
trips him, and dow r n they go, with Bill on Shaw, and w r ith both hands so firm¬ 
ly and desperately clenched in Shaw’s white cravat, as to make his tongue 
protrude. The girls faintly titter, v r hile the stoutest and bravest boys bang 
their desks, and wfildly shout with joy. The panting combatants spring to 
the floor, and, like two roosters, have a moment’s respite; Shaw is pale, and 
trembles with shame, and relents, and in feeble and broken accents, directs Bill 
to take his seat; the silence of a Capulet pervades the school, when my tre¬ 
mendous horse laugh breaks the calm ; the scholars scream again with frantic 
contortions; Shaw’s eyes roll like a demon’s, and his voice rises high above 
the universal clamor, which slowly subsides, and all is still again; Shaw then 
comes on tiptoe to my desk, and grabs and drags me to the aisle, with one 
hand clutched in my throat, and the other in my long hair, when I grab him in 
a tender spot, and make him squeal; and so severe and unrelenting is my grasp, 
that he gladly gives freedom to my throat and hair, and implores, in tones of 
excruciating agony, to release my hands. I slowly do so, when he reseizes me, 
and, dragging me several feet, by my hair, kicks away the scuttle, and casts 
me headlong beneath the school-house, closing the scuttle over me; I can 
hardly sit upright in my new abode; all is darkness; I smell the awful per¬ 
fume of a dead skunk; little mice squeal, and run over me, and nibble at my 
mouth and nose, and big and hungry rats approach, and violently attack me, 
which I keep at bay with my feet and hands, and hideous yells, and they finally 




LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


31 


scamper to their holes, while a myriad of mice remain to torment me; I chew 
tobacco, to drown my abject sorrow; it is the first cud that ever graced my 
mouth; I cover it with the fragment of a newspaper, to prevent my giddy 
exhilaration through a too strong taste of tobacco; I soon get deathly sick, 
and thump and scream for Shaw to let me out, who heeds not my piteous cries; 
I am desperate, and, resting my hands and feet on the ground, I get an ir¬ 
resistible purchase, and with a mighty movement of my back, Ibursfthe scuttle 
with a tremendous crash, and dart from my narrow and dreary cavern into the 
school-room, and run down the aisle, vomiting at every step; the scholars are 
nearly gone; as I approach the door, Shaw grabs me, when I belch the purest 
bile plump in his face, which, of course, was purely accidental; Shaw is 
blinded with tobacco bile, and wipes his cheeks, and nose, and mouth, and eyes, 
and commands me to go to his desk; I refuse; he then expostulates, and 
breathes kind words, which allay my anger, and check the flow of tobacco and 
salt water bile; I go to his desk; he dismisses the few scholars that remain, 
save my weeping brother Bill, curled in the corner: Shaw laments the sad 
occurrence; hopes we will be better boys, and permits us to go home; on our 
arrival, father is at tea, listening to brother Albert’s version of the story; 
Bill and myself seat ourselves at table, when father directs each to give his 
melancholy narrative; Bill is hungry and slowly begins, and lacks vivacity, 
and the impatient father turns to me for the rapid and vivid analysis of the 
horrid scholastic anarchy and rencontre then flying on exaggeration’s wide¬ 
spread wings, and distracting the peaceful firesides of Providence; I swallow 
the delicious food already in my mouth; cleanse my throat with a prolonged 
swallow of commingled tea and sugar, and tell my story in a nervous strain; 
my father’s eyes are large and fixed on mine, throughout my exciting narra¬ 
tive, at whose close, he gets his hat and cane and autumnal mantle, and bids my¬ 
self and Bill to follow him; we penetrate the pitchy darkness, and after va¬ 
ried street meanderings in the turbulent and piercing evening winds, we ascend 
the steps, and tap at the door of Shaw; we enter his pale presence, who is ex¬ 
tremely courteous to father, who is a member of the Visiting School Commit¬ 
tee, and invested with power of a teacher’s dismissal, which Shaw now fears; 
father opens his deadly batteries, and Shaw, perceiving no possible escape, 
pleads extenuation for the violent temper that nature gave him; spoke of 
William as a very good and studious boy, (a truth.) and of Stephen as a 
meritorious and enthusiastic youth, who dearly loved his books, (a lie,) and 
deeply regretted that his heated passion led him to the chastisement of William, 
and the incarceration of Stephen; and declared in tones of warm sincerity, 
that if father would forgive him, he would never whip nor imprison us again, 



32 


LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 


but lead us up the hill of science through gentle and persuasive means: father 
pities and admires his humility, and, rising to depart, directs Shaw to inform 
him every Friday by letter, how many days William and Stephen have played 
the truant during the week, and with what fidelity we recite our lessons, and 
what our general conduct is; Shaw’s eyes flash joy at these delightful and 
magnanimous behests, while the eyes of Bill and myself flash guilt and fury 
at Shaw’s apparent conquest, because all our future sport is spoiled, and mine, 
especially, as I played truant about twice a week, and Bill once a month ; and 
because I seldom got my lessons well; Shaw and father extend their hands, 
and shake a warm good night; and while they linger at the outer door in 
friendly conversation, I slyly crawl through father’s legs, to get into the street 
as soon as possible, and away from Shaw’s victorious presence; the last shake 
of hands transpire between father and Shaw, who slowly closes the door, with 
a beatific smile; father, myself, and Bill muffle ourselves in our fervent gar¬ 
ments ; it snows and blows very hard; and as we walk slowly homeward 
against the snow and wind, father delivers an affectionate and mournful lecture, 
gently chiding us for the trouble we had caused him, and the rapid increase of 
his snowy locks; kindly warning us, that we w r ere constantly exposed to the 
sad fate of orphans, our tender mother being already gone forever; and with 
a trembling voice, implored us to be good boys, to study hard, to be kind and 
obedient to Mr. Shaw r , to cultivate manly virtues, and strive to become intel¬ 
lectual giants, and the pillars of our country, in peace or war, after the fathers 
of his generation had passed from the field of action. We both wept bitterly, 
and besought our dear and indulgent father to forgive the past, with assuran¬ 
ces of our efforts to please him and our teacher in the future. We reach 
home, and father kindles a crackling hickory fire, and gives us cider and wal¬ 
nuts, and tells us pretty stories, and puts on extra bed clothes, because the 
night is so piercing cold, and tucks our bed at the sides, to keep out the biting 
air, and then directs us to clasp and raise our little hands to God, and say 
after him our evening prayer of 

“ Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 

If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take 

and then gives us a parting kiss, and pats our little foreheads, and breathe**, 
sweet tones of affection until he passes from our view. Bill and myseli 
make good resolves for the future, and breathe a fond “good night! ” and 
then embrace the tranquil slumber and innocent dreams of early boyhood. 


AN IMPORTANT CARD! 


K 


j|jj This book can always be obtained by 
inclosing twenty-five cents to “ Stephen 
H H. Branch, Post Office, Nassau Street, 

| J\'ew York,” with the applicant’s address. 

N Hr* Public notice will be given of the 
appearance of the Second Number. 

§> Subscribers will early receive all the 
j|j numbers as they appear, with Mr. Branch’s 
fervent gratitude for their noble advance 
M subscriptions, at a period when he urgent- 
ly required their pecuniary aid, in conse- 
H quence of his robbery of several thousand 
pjj dollars, by the Corporation of New York, 

^ through the bigotry, treachery and cruelty 
of some precious Pinks, Swans, and evil 
or rotten Apples, in the Board of Coun- 
|| cilmen, who have all been hurled from the 
M seats they disgraced, and consigned to 
^ eternal obscurity; and one is already in the 
yt Alms House, (placed there by the charity 
P of Americans whom he betrayed,) with the 
jj| Sexton’s eye of Potter’s Field irrevoca- 
p. bly fastened on his pulse! and plate! and 
(fi public appetite! 

1 STEPHEN H. BRANCH. | 


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